If Wishes Were Horses
by NoHands
Summary: What makes us who we are? We carry our history on our back and in our heads.


Just FYI, this is my first Fanfic, and is intended to be a fairly intense HP and SS story - but not slash. This first short teaser chapter is just a prologue and a setup. Story-wise, this comes immediately after OOTP. I know this story covers territory that has not only been tread, but that has been landscaped and had condominiums built on it. This is my take on themes that I am sure others have explored thoroughly; don't flame me, it's not worth it to either of us.  
  
Disclaimer. You know the drill. None of these characters are mine, they belong to J. K. Rowling.   
  
Home Again  
  
The trip from King's Cross train station had been tense. Harry surmised that Vernon Dursley was quietly seething, and he wondered about the wisdom of the not-so-veiled threats the Order had made toward his Uncle. He had been almost jubilant as he walked out to the car, but now he was starting to come down from his initial high spirits. He was going to their house again -- alone -- and there might be a price to pay despite the Order's promise of protection.  
  
Harry had perforce learned to be comfortable when alone. Since a small child, he had been pointedly ignored and shunned in his home. Idle chatter was not well rewarded in the Dursley household -- at least not Harry's chatter. He subsequently had become a reticent child when at Privet Drive, unless driven to extreme anger. He sat in the back seat of the car in silence, listening to the rumble of the wheels and rain hitting the windows. If he had a normal family -- or some friends here-- he could at least contemplate telling someone about the ghastly things that had happened in the last school year. He still might have not told anyone -- but it would have been nice to know someone might give a damn.  
  
_________________________________  
  
It had been raining almost continually in Little Whinging since he'd been back, as if to make up for the severe drought of last summer. Since Harry barely left the house anymore, it didn't matter much to him. He'd been home for three and a half weeks.  
  
Harry's window was open despite the continuous drizzle and cool air. This was because the window was swollen enough by the high humidity that he couldn't be sure of opening it again once it was closed. On balance, Harry would rather make sure his precious owl, Hedwig, could get back in when she'd been out hunting.   
  
A beefy fist pummeled his bedroom door and simultaneously twisted the knob and burst in. Vernon.  
  
"It's three days, boy. Let's see your letter."  
  
Harry picked up a parchment with a few scribbled lines, and gave it Vernon to inspect. The letter was innocuous and simple, saying he was bored but fine.  
  
"All right then. Tie it to that ruddy owl and send it off."  
  
Hedwig hooted, conveying her dislike of Uncle Vernon without human words, but she sidled up to Harry, nipped him affectionately, and stuck out her leg.   
  
"Go to Dumbledore, girl. And make sure you have a rest before you come back."  
  
Vernon watched as Harry attached the letter and Hedwig flew into the rainy dusk. He then turned his back without a word and slammed the bedroom door on his way out.   
  
Harry counted himself lucky that Vernon and Dudley had been so...undemonstrative...this summer. In the past, Vernon Dursley had tended to take out any frustrations he experienced on Harry. Usually this was emotional cruelty directed toward Harry, but it could also take violent physical form; Harry had scars and even broken bones to prove it. Harry had been in hospital more than once before he had discovered he was a wizard; unfortunately, no one who treated him had been able to put two and two together. The physical abuse had died down to some degree after his eleventh birthday and the onset of his attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -- due to Vernon's fear of retribution.   
  
Despite this, Harry never felt safe. He was not a large person; his slight build had always made him vulnerable to the violent behemoths Vernon and Dudley. When he was younger, he tried to defend himself, but it had only led to more serious injury; later on he had threatened magic in retaliation. This had worked to some degree, but it wasn't something that could defend him against explosive bouts of unreasonable anger. Mostly Harry just tried to tread lightly around Privet Drive.  
  
The root of his trouble was that, deep down, Harry believed that the Dursleys were justified. He didn't even know he thought this -he had been declared worthless for so long that it had become part of his psyche, despite all the evidence to the contrary since the beginning of his life in the wizarding world.  
  
The death of Sirius Black, his beloved Godfather, had pushed him further into depression and doubt than he had ever been before. Harry was on the brink - and even he didn't know it. He had become so accustomed to a joyless existence that he couldn't tell.  
  
This was Harry's life at Privet Drive the summer of his sixteenth birthday. And it was about to get worse. 


End file.
